the warm
crosses blinked
     to danger's
              nasturtium

Because we evolve
we out-evolved ourselves;
we thought we were winning
but the house did.

The fires

As the harvest failed
and the seas rose up
and the flames from the stairwell
licked at our door
we all of us did what we were told
and stayed in Plato's cave.

As I was busy doing good
It turned out I was doing wrong;

As I walked out one morning,
A ghost walked in and stole my song.

I need
to believe
in a place
where
people
treat each
other well;

it isn't
art,
there is
only room
for one
in there

but without it
there isn't any.